


Can't Help Falling In Love

by evanescentlester



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Harry Potter AU, Idk how to tag things, M/M, Phan Fluff, Phanfiction, Swearing, a bit idek, first fic omg, phan angst (but not really)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7189442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evanescentlester/pseuds/evanescentlester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a phan hogwarts!au - in which to make up for the universe screwing dan howell over at seemingly every opportunity, it sends him phil lester (featuring potions homework, a quidditch match and snape being a little bitch)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Help Falling In Love

Dan’s going to kill him. 

Dan’s actually going to kill him, like shove a bezoar down that slimy git’s throat and everything. See how he likes it, that tyrannical, evil sod who apparently only finds happiness in the misery and torture of his own students. Only Snape could drive him to homicidal thoughts like this, keeping him trapped in the dungeons after class instead of down by the lake with Chris & PJ or practising for next weeks’ match.

It’s not Dan’s fault he’s failing Potions –any time the Potions master starts talking he can literally feel his soul leaving his body from boredom. Dan is definitely not responsible for the large red “troll” scrawled next to a zero at the bottom of his last paper. Even if, according to Snape, the fifth-year is currently achieving the “worst grade average in the history of his house”, he’s decided to take that as a compliment, really. Something to be remembered by.

(Besides, he’s pretty sure Snape is just being melodramatic – sweeping around the corridors in that stupid black cloak of his, terrifying the first years? That is kind of his speciality.) (And even if he’s not, Dan really couldn’t care less – he never asked to be put in Slytherin in the first place and the best he’s ever done in Potions is scrape a “Poor”. He has no idea why Snape’s suddenly taking this so seriously now.)

But Snape _is_ taking this seriously, for some reason, and he really doesn’t need another lecture on his grades - he doesn’t need good OWL results to play Quidditch, and seeing as that’s pretty much the only thing he’s any good at anyway, that’s exactly what Dan will be doing the second he leaves Hogwarts in two years time.

The only reason he’s actually failing this pointless subject in the first place is that instead of taking notes in class he’s normally daydreaming longingly of the pitch - of finally winning the house cup for his team and wiping the arrogant smirks off all those bloody Gryffindor’s faces. Honestly? He’s just hoping one his potions would backfire so hard it “accidentally” evaporated his Head of House just so he could leave, that would be -

“Howell!”  
Dan crashes abruptly out of his thoughts and back down to the dungeons, Snape somehow towering over him despite his obnoxious height.  
“Unless you want to spend every day next month rearranging the ingredients store, I suggest you pay attention.”

“Sorry, sir.” Dan mumbles, causing a raised eyebrow and a cold glare. The near-silence is almost as suffocating as the dark shadowed confinement of the Potions classroom and not for the first time Dan wishes he was anywhere but here. Hell, he’d even take double Transfiguration over this – McGonagall’s strict, sure, but at least she’s not the literal human embodiment of pure evil.

“Mr. Howell – it has recently come to my attention that without my intervention, based on your past theory papers, you will not achieve a passing grade in your Potions examination.” Dan restrains himself from rolling his eyes.  
“As your Head of House, I have thus kindly decided that I shall take responsibility for your improvement. In order for you to stop not only disgracing yourself but your entire house, I have come to the conclusion an incentive must be required to...motivate you to work harder.” Snape pauses (he swears it’s just for dramatic effect, the melodramatic git), and Dan can feel a familiar knot of anxiety start to tighten his chest under his patronizing glower. This cannot be good. 

“Taking effect immediately, I have concluded that until your Potions grade improves to at least an “Acceptable”, you shall be suspended from your position on the Quidditch team.”

“What?” A resounding question reverberates around the room, impulsively uttered as soon as the last word leaves Snape’s mouth.  
This isn’t fair, can’t be fair, can’t be fair at all – Quidditch is the only thing that keeps Dan sane, for Merlin’s sake. The image alone of the look on Chris’s face when Slytherin lifts the trophy is enough to last him through an hour of History of Magic essays. He’s had to work so hard for so long to prove himself to Hazel and land a spot on the team, and now Snape is taking the most important thing at Hogwarts to Dan away from him (sabotaging his own house team in the process), all because he’s failing a subject nobody cares about.

Dan’s going to kill him.  
Dan would absolutely jinx him into oblivion there and then, if he wasn’t so sure Snape could probably turn him into a frog first. (Plus he doesn’t really want to have to explain to his mum he’s been expelled for murdering a teacher.) Anyway, he would never use an unforgiveable curse on anyone, even Snape – a Slytherin he may be, but he’s not a murderer and certainly not the descendant of any scumbag Death Eater. 

So he settles for clenched fists, fighting back every bone in his body which tells him to at least lightly maim Snape if not completely lethally and digging his nails firmly into his palms until they’re crimson in the process. “I will be setting you extra revision work, the first of which will be due next Monday, and you shall take a mock potions theory paper in six weeks time – should you pass that paper, I may reconsider my decision.” Snape calmly sneers with a half-smirk. 

“Is that all, Sir?” It takes slightly too much restraint for Dan’s voice not to shake.  
“You are dismissed, Mr. Howell – you’ll find this is all for your own good.”  
He takes no time at all to power-walk out of the dungeons before Snape can possibly make his life any worse. No Quidditch for six weeks, and barely any chance of Slytherin winning the cup, on top of extra potions work.

Dan’s going to kill him. At least lightly maim, or slightly disfigure. He’s sure no-one would really mind. It takes him angrily barging through a swarm of scared-looking second years, storming his way across the castle to clear his head – if Snape’s going to take this so bloody seriously, so is he. He’s actually going to do the work, on time, pass the exam with flying colours and Snape will have no choice but to let him play. Simple.  
Dan just actually has to put the work in first. 

***

As it turns out, “putting the work in” requires a lot more effort than Dan originally anticipated.  
A week crawls by as he feels himself slowly slipping from the brink of sanity – being trapped in the castle pouring over thousand year old textbooks instead of team practise every evening is torture, especially as Hazel is furious with him, him, for failing Potions in the first place and losing Slytherin their most dedicated seeker in half a century. He knows it’s only because she cares just as much about winning the house cup as he does (maybe only so she can rub it in Jack’s face) but he also knows her glares could probably turn a man to stone. This is an uneasy feeling first thing in the morning when he asks her to pass the orange juice.  
In the meantime he tries, he really does – PJ offers to tutor him to try and console the miserable Slytherin but it takes two pairs of singed eyebrows, an escaped box of frogs, five cracked vials and a nearly broken wand before he gives up, weakly suggesting that he just ask Snape for help instead.

“I’d literally rather fuck a hippogriff than ask Snape for help, Peej – if I singed his eyebrows he’d trap me in the castle until seventh year.”

Jack offers to lend him notes but his handwriting is almost as bad as Dan’s– Chris has about as much skill in Potions as a disabled slug and only scrapes an passing grade because his cauldron is next to PJ’s, leading him to laugh in his face after a desperate plea for help. Louise tries to help by lending him her copy of “Cauldron Catastrophes 101” but he throws it out the window when it makes about as much sense to him as it would if he was reading it upside down. It’s useless – he’s is never going to understand any of this. He’s more likely to make out with Dumbledore that pass that mock.

He’s at the end of his tether when he decides to try the library.  
It’s a last-ditch attempt at some kind of potions-related epiphany; familiar procrastination has led Dan to leave one of his extra essays until the last minute and when PJ lazily starts answering all his frantic questions with sarcastic remarks he’s forced to try and work out exactly why he should never add pomegranate juice to a Strengthening Solution by himself. 

In his approaching five years at Hogwarts, the library is probably one of the few places he’s visited the least – silence tends to make him feel suffocated, and books just aren’t really Dan’s thing. It’s late but Madam Pince still keeps the room alive with candlelight despite there being barely anyone here. He brushes his fingers against the dusty covers of worn potions textbooks, coming up with sassy comebacks to Snape’s questions and wishing for some kind of magical miracle to occur despite the looming feeling that the universe is somehow intent on screwing him over at every possible opportunity. 

He traverses the seemingly endless bookshelves for some sort of sign his life can’t possibly get any worse, picks out the three with the least cobwebs on it and, resigned to his fate, makes his way absent-mindedly to the nearest table. Dan’s head is cloudy with half-remembered potion ingredients and yearnings for his dormitory bed, but is soon filled with determination as he grasps for a crumpled up roll of parchment out of his robe. He’s going to be so amazing at Potions, Snape will have no choice but to give him an Outstanding and award him Quidditch captain right there on the spot. He can do this, he will do this, and it will be the greatest middle finger to everyone who thinks he can’t. He’s ready.

These are all the thoughts going through Dan’s mind when he accidentally trips over a haphazard stack of books landing him face-first onto the carpet, sending an almighty crash reverberating around the silent library and a burst of melodic laughter from somewhere behind him, making him flush angrily.

“Sorry, sorry! You alright there? I probably shouldn’t have left my books there I guess, that was sort of my fault...” He can instantly tell the voice belongs to a Hufflepuff already from its unwaveringly irritable cheerful tone, and decides he’s probably better off with his face pressed against the floor. 

“Hey, are you okay? Heelllooooooo???”  
“Leave me alone.”  
“Are you just going to stay there?”  
“I’m trying to recollect what’s left of my little dignity.”  
“It’s not working.”

He finally lifts himself partway off the floor to be met with a vaguely familiar mop of raven black hair against snow-pale skin and ethereal blue eyes that look like they should belong to a fairy, holding out a hand to pull him up off the library carpet where Madam Pince is giving them both a disapproving look. He hesitates for a second before gladly taking it, finding the Hufflepuff (he was right) to be just as obnoxiously tall as he is only with a much brighter smile compared to Dan’s look of apprehension as his social ineptitude kicks in - they’re not complete strangers; he’s pretty sure they have a few classes together yet the fellow fifth’s-name currently eludes him. 

“Thanks.” He mutters quietly, running a hand through his hair as the boy collects his books and hands them to him with a half-curious, half-smiling glance.  
“Advanced Potions Brewery & Drafts Throughout The Ages? Sounds like you’ve got a fun evening planned.” Dan scoffs at that.  
“Yeah, sure - how else would I want to spend my Sunday night?”  
“I don’t know, maybe doing that three page essay McGonagall set us on Vanishing Charms?”  
“Hagrid’s buttcrack, I forgot about that...oh god, I’m actually screwed. If Snape doesn’t padlock me in the dungeons for a month, she’ll transfigure me into an ant or something.” 

The boy laughs again and an odd warm feeling stirs in Dan’s chest he elects to ignore.  
“Why would Snape lock you in the dungeon? I mean, I’m sure Potions textbooks make excellent light reading but you don’t really seem the type to just check them out for fun.” He asks inquisitively and Dan just sighs.  
“Snape’s set me a mountain’s worth of remedial essays and crap – trust me, I’ve already read enough Potions textbooks to last me about seven different lifetimes – ‘cause I’m currently achieving the worst grade average in the history of my house according to him, the slimy git.” The boy’s friendly smile is instantly subdued with sympathy. 

“Wow, that really sucks ass.”  
“I know right! He’s suspended me from Quidditch too, which means instead of being out on the pitch doing the only thing I’m actually good at, I’m stuck here blowing dust off ancient...sorry, you probably don’t appreciate me telling you why my life’s falling apart.” He stops mid-rant to flush slightly pink as he realises he’s basically pouring his heart out to this poor guy just because he tripped over his stack of books. He probably just wants to be left alone, not at the mercy of some random awkward Slytherin’s outburst.

“Hey, no it’s okay! It’s nice actually having someone to talk to anyway. Books aren’t always exactly great company...” The boy smiles brightly again and Dan can’t help but grin back.  
“Thanks, I guess. It’s just, it feels useless, y’know? Like I’m never going to care let alone understand all this potions stuff, and however hard I try to absorb some knowledge from a page, there’s nothing in my head ten seconds after, like there’s this brick wall in my brain.”  
The Hufflepuff nods thoughtfully with another kind smile, and for the first time it feels like Dan is actually being properly listened to. Don’t get him wrong, his friends are great, but there are more than a few times where he feels likes no-one actually cares about him or his problems. (He guesses he can’t really ever find a reason why they should, and his social incompetence has its ways of so often wrapping around his head and warping his perspective coupled with heavy breaths and tightened chests.) But this feeling is different. There’s a few seconds of silence before one of them speaks again: 

“Y’know, I could...I could help you with this Potions essay if you want...?”  
Dan just stares, shocked, leading the boy to hastily backtrack.  
“I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, and I can’t promise it’ll be good, but I’ll try to help you the best I can, if you’ll let me.”  
“You’d really do that? You don’t even know me...” He’s bewildered at how someone can have that much kindness towards even near strangers that they’d actually voluntarily do extra Potions.

“I’m a Hufflepuff...” The boy shrugs lightly, grinning.  
“...It’s kinda what we do. So, is that a yes?”  
“Are you sure? I don’t want to waste any of your free time.”  
“I’ve got nothing better to do.” He grabs an extra chair and motions for Dan to sit down, putting away his own pile of books into his satchel and grabbing a long roll of parchment with a quill.

“Thank you.” Dan says quietly and earnestly, five minutes slightly too late when they’re just beginning to go over the basics- he’s writing an introduction and the Hufflepuff is looking up some key terms in Drafts Throughout The Ages. He looks up with those unearthly blue eyes and gives Dan a genuine smile that makes that odd feeling stir again, though he pushes it down for now.  
“Don’t worry about it. It’s...it’s Dan, right?” He adds the question as an afterthought, and Dan is equally surprised he knows his name and embarrassed at not knowing his. 

“Yeah, Dan. Dan Howell.”  
“I’m Phil – Phil Lester.”  
“Nice to meet you, Phil. And, thanks.” He should say a lot more, thank him a lot more, he knows he should. But right now, it seems two words and a smile shared between them will do.  
“Anytime.”

***

What neither of the pair quite realise on that night is that their unlikely new friendship sparks the beginnings of a rarely-seen bond – between the concentrated, focused silences while Phil reads and Dan scribbles, there are snatches of conversations between them that refreshingly aren’t forced or laced with his usual unfathomably awkwardness, instead flowing naturally from Dan’s curious questions about the Muggle world (“So your posters don’t move even a little?”) to Phil’s Muggle music recommendations. (“Sure, you think the Weird Sisters are good, but you haven’t lived until you’ve heard Muse.”) Phil helps him with Potions and even insists on doing the same with Dan’s transfiguration essay, the two working until the sky is the same colour as Phil’s hair and Madam Pince threatens to beat them out with a broom.

And a few Transfiguration lessons later when McGonagall awards Dan with some rare praise, commending him for his excellent work on the theory for Vanishing Spells, his eyes immediately scan for the mop of black hair three rows and two seats across from him. It’s with a grateful smile he mouths yet another thanks at Phil, but he just grins and shakes his head slightly, rapidly scribbling on a makeshift paper aeroplane and quietly enchanting it to land neatly on his desk.  
_“Stop thanking me, you dork – that essay was all you. Plus, laughing at my jokes is thanks enough ^-^”_  
Dan rolls his eyes but keeps smiling anyway because Phil is quite unlike anyone he’s ever met before, and certainly the kindest. He doesn’t know why or how but he’s never abandoned all his social insecurities so quickly and easily quite like this before and so much of him just wants to talk to him more, about music and classes and everything.

But familiar voices creep their way into Dan’s thoughts and soon weaken his smile as they so often like to do – Phil probably just pities him, feels sorry for him, doesn’t actually want him around just like the rest of his friends. He’s just being nice, stupid Hufflepuff. Who would ever want to actually be his friend anyway? He turns his attention to the textbook in front of him, heart deflated and heavy. He can do this without Phil just fine.  
He doesn’t quite realise how “without Phil” is going to become something much harder to achieve than he expected. 

***

It takes another three days and completely chance (later, a little voice in Dan’s head calls it fate, though he extinguishes the notion almost immediately) for them to meet again, although pretty much in the exact same circumstances – Dan desperate for help, and Phil’s unrelenting kindness causing him to gladly offer it.  
He dramatically bursts into the library and stumbles across the other fifth year about to leave his usual table. Phil takes one look at his distressed expression and instantly sits down again, taking his potions textbook from out of his bag and unrolling parchment as Dan slumps in the chair next to him; it’s as if they move as clockwork.

“You don’t have to-“  
“Dan, you look like you’re about to cry. Yes I do.”  
“Why though? Why are you so intent on helping me? You don’t even really know me at all.”  
The next thing Phil says is so blatant and matter-of-fact yet almost whispered, but he hears it anyway. He shoves his guilt to one side for now and tries to push that feeling where his heart flips over aside too.  
“I’d like to.” 

***

“I’ll tutor you, if you want.”  
The offer hangs in a rare silence between them – it’s Dan’s fourth consecutively unfinished essay and subsequently the fourth time he’s come instantly to Phil in the past week, and yes, the guilt eats him away every single time (because however many times Phil insists he’s got nothing better to do or that he wants to help Dan out, he can’t help feeling like he’s a burden) – but Phil is so sweet, smart and kind and funny. Dan’s never met someone in his life who can talk so passionately about Herbology, and yet for the first time, because it’s Phil, he actually cares. He doesn’t know how he does it, but somehow Phil makes clear what ancient textbooks cannot, and if he ever wants to play Quidditch again he could really use the help.

“You’d do that?”  
“It’s what I’ve been doing so far, isn’t it?” There’s another silence while Dan just gives a slightly bewildered stare, and Phil just sighs; he’s used to this by now.  
“Dan, I know you feel guilty or whatever but please don’t okay? I’m helping you because I like you and you deserve to be able to do what makes you happy – if helping you with potions will do that, then I’m more than happy to oblige.”  
“You...like me?” Dan, of course, being an idiot, only picks up on the one phrase that makes Phil’s cheeks stain a light pink.  
“’Course I do – we’re friends, right?”

He thinks about how Louise is always chatting endless to Zoe instead of him, how Chris and PJ have this connection Dan seems to lack. How all his friends have other friends they so obviously like more than him, how he’s useless and awkward and pathetic. How none of that seems to matter to Phil.  
He cracks a smile which Phil instantly returns.

“Yeah. Yeah we are.”  
“Good. So, you’ll let me tutor you?”  
“Only if you’re sure you want to be stuck with this mess.”  
“Positive.” 

***

They inevitability get closer, partners in almost every lesson and suddenly rarely seen separated – it very quickly becomes natural to say Dan _and_ Phil instead of just the one alone. Dan starts learning about Phil’s favourite types of plant as well the properties of moonstone, and extraordinarily both seem to stick in his head. The library serves as their main meeting place despite the disapproving glares Madam Pince sends them every time they laugh too loud, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to do Potions homework.

Of course, the essays still pile up like a mountain of weight on Dan’s shoulders, dragging him down into near-insomnia. There are still too many sleepless nights over sleeping draughts, and there is no Quidditch to throw himself into and take relief in. But Phil is too many times too good for Dan, finishing his essays when he falls asleep at the desk, listening patiently while he rants about Snape. There’s more than one morning a week where Dan will wake up with his face pressed against the table in panic only to find the conclusion to his paper scrawled neatly in note form for him to copy up, as well as a plate of warm buttered toast and a glass of orange juice. His heart flutters before he can remind it not to. 

And with Phil’s help, Dan’s grades steadily improve from a Troll to a Dreadful to a Poor, the best they’ve ever been even if they’re still a fail. To celebrate one day Phil doesn’t take books out of his bag upon arriving outside the library but instead takes his hand, leading him down to the edges of the lake and insisting he deserves a break. When they arrive he sheepishly lets go and pulls a small rectangular shape device out of his pocket Dan’s never seen anything like before. 

“It’s called an iPod” Phil explains briefly, before inserting some kind of tangled wire contraption into it and handing one end to Dan, motioning for him to put the little bud that dangled off the end into his ear.  
“You put that into your ear – just like that, yeah – and then you choose a song on this, and it’ll play music only you can hear.”  
“Really?”  
“Yep. Nearly everyone has one or something like it back in the Muggle world – we may have magic but their technology’s leaps and bounds before ours: biros are so much easier to use than quills.”

“Biros?” Dan asks curiously.  
“Don’t worry about it. Here-“Phil hands him the rectangular device before placing the other bud into his own ear and closing his eyes, sliding down the tree the two are currently slumped against to lounge on the grass.  
“Choose one you like the look of.”  
Dan scrolls in awe, fascinated by how Muggle technology works. He finally rests his finger on a song and presses play, only to marvel even more at the man who starts to sing in his ear. 

_“Far away, this ship has taken me far away  
Far away from all the memories, of the people who care if I live or die.”_

Dan’s mind is buzzing with questions but he doesn’t want to interrupt the song, instead choosing to lay back with Phil and watch the clouds go past.  
“Phil?” He says, after a little while.  
“Hmmmmm?”  
“What makes you happy?”

Phil’s bluer-than-blue eyes open to stare at him for a good half minute, a quiet expression on his face Dan can’t quite seem to decode but seems to involve him staring into his soul, before rolling onto his back to cloudgaze with the Slytherin.  
“My family, I guess – they’re the only ones that have always been there for me. I love books too; there’s something so intoxicating about a fantasy world, which is kind of ironic seeing as I live in one. Herbology, Charms...I don’t know, lots of little things I guess. What about you?”

“You already know – I practically live and breathe Quidditch.” It’s true – around 90% of Dan’s brain is purely dedicated to trivia, tricks and skills, as well as the best broom models. But Phil scoffs at that.  
“C’mon Dan, there’s more to your personality than just a sport.”  
“Debateable.”

Phil just gives him a familiar knowing look, like he somehow knows him better than he knows himself, and Dan’s heart does a somersault before he pushes it down again – he should know better than to feel like this, not after the last time. Even so, in that moment he has the strongest urge to say “you.”  
“I don’t even know – music, maybe? We have this amazing grand piano at home so I can play a little, but I’m not very good.”

“Nah, I bet you’re great. You know, you’d find things so much easier if you just believed in yourself sometimes. You’re smart, way smarter than me – you just need to learn to apply it.” Phil says quietly before closing his eyes again, leaving Dan to just stare at him (as has become something of a normality), stunned into silence. How can Phil possibly think he’s even the slightest bit smarter than him when he’s the one that always has to vanish the bubbling substances in Dan’s cauldron just in case they set fire to the dungeons, or explain the theory for a Shrinking Solution a thousand times just so it will stick in Dan’s head?  
“I’m not smarter than you, no way.”  
“There you go, not believing in yourself again – y’know what? Maybe you don’t, and that’s fine I guess. But I do, and I hope on some scale that might matter to you.” 

And that’s the problem. It does, it matters to Dan so much that he has someone like Phil, so unwaveringly kind and thoughtful, his best friend despite them only really knowing each other for a few weeks. He’s only felt like this, wanted and truly liked with little doubt, once before – and that’s the problem, because he’s terrified. He knows where somersaulting hearts and shy smiles lead, knows where this is going to end up, and yes, they’ve known each other for three weeks but Dan is never going to pass that Potions paper without Phil and by then he doesn’t know if it’ll be too late. Judging by how much of his thoughts are taken up by blue eyes and blooming plants, he thinks it already might be.

_Bisexual_ is a term Dan first learns behind the broom shed in third year. It’s not his first kiss, not by a long way – but it’s the first time he’s been kissed like that. First time he’s been kissed by a boy, first time kissing a boy, first time his heart’s done that before for a boy; and, in the moment, he couldn’t care less. He cares a lot more when his heart gets broken two months later. They were never too serious, a fling, a high school romance that was never going to last. But he was Dan’s first, and that leaves nothing but damage in its wake. 

He’s closeted to most except a few of his closest friends – Slytherin aren’t exactly renowned for acceptance and their prejudices don’t tend to just be over blood. He falls apart over three more (two boys and a girl) before he decides it’s not worth it, and that he should know better: every time his heart flips over, sooner or later it’s going to slip up and Dan is going to have to be the one to pick up the pieces.

And yet he falls again and again because that sixth year metamorphus has the coolest purple hair Dan’s ever seen, or that boy smiled at him that one time at breakfast and now Dan’s smitten for the week. Then you have Phil; unshakably honey sweet, blue eyes from another world – shy and dorky and a database of random Muggle trivia Dan’s 90% sure he just makes up on the spot, currently dedicating all his spare time to helping him. How can he not fall in love with him?

“Dan? You okay?” He’s abruptly snatched from his increasingly desperate internal monologue with burning cheeks and an old half-truth –  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just...got a lot on my mind, I guess.”  
“Then stop thinking too hard. I can literally feel your brain overworking from here.”  
“I can’t just stop, Phil – that’s not how it works.”

“Then at least think a bit less. Here, I’m telepathically sending you an image of a cat.”  
Dan glances over to see Phil’s face screwed up in intense concentration, which puts the beginnings of a grin on his face.

You’re such a dork.”  
“Did you get it?”  
“Yes, thanks. I liked the one with the ginger fur.”  
“Good. See, now you’re thinking about cats. It worked.”

Dan is then and in every moment after sure of one thing: it’s almost definitely too late, and now he’s fallen into a deep dark hole of unwanted feelings it’s going to take an age to escape from. 

***

“Didn’t you projectile vomit all over Eleanor Gladberry while asking her out the last time you smuggled Firewhiskey?” PJ recalls smugly as Dan and Phil both spit out their pumpkin juice from laughter and Chris sighs – the foursome are lounging in the Ravenclaw common room, attempts at revision abandoned the evening before the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw match and the subsequent after-party Chris is apparently determined to get drunk at. Dan practises non-verbal spells with little success and Phil and PJ compare their muggleborn and pureblood upbringings, each scribbling lists of things they definitely need to check out from each other’s worlds when they get the chance. Chris is scheming apparently to thin air, now trying (and failing) to defend himself. 

“I’m telling you guys it was my plan all along – now I’m unforgettable.”  
“Yeah Chris, great plan, because nothing turns girls on more than hydro-pumping on their robes.” Phil remarks sarcastically, causing another rounds of laughs from the group. Dan’s glad he’s managed to settle in so well with his own friends, comfortable enough to make jokes at their own expense and get laughs back. Phil seems a lot more sure of himself when he’s not hidden behind a book, and if he can make up for half of what Phil’s done for him by at least getting him out of the library by himself that’s a start to him not feeling intensely guilty every time he asks for help on an essay.

(Not to mention the black hole his stomach evaporates into everytime he thinks about how he’s so far gone for Phil Lester it’s unbelievable, and how anything more than friendship between them is never going to happen in a million years.) 

The Firewhiskey itself, in retrospect, is a mistake – but the numbness Dan feels in his fingertips and his stomach the next night is enough him to take small comfort in the burning in the back of his throat. Gryffindor obliterate Ravenclaw in their second match of the season, and a raucous celebration begins the Gryffindor common room, all houses welcome as long as you’ve got food or drink to share around. 

He knows taking the cup from Chris is a bad idea. Yes, he’s such a lightweight he can’t currently see or think straight after only two or three drinks – but Dan hasn’t seen or thought straight in a very, very long time and he sees no good reason to start now. Everything is fine, it seems, for all of about two minutes; he doesn’t feel heavy with too many feelings at once as normal, but doesn’t really feel anything at all, which makes a nice change.

The party is loud and crowded and he lost sight of all his friends at least ten minutes ago, but despite his head and inhibitions being clouded his intentions are clear – the Firewhiskey bubbling in his throat is somewhat liquid courage. He needs to tell Phil how he feels about him, because bottling this all up is a recipe for self-destruction. He knows it can only end badly but he doesn’t care. Phil deserves to know the truth.  
But Dan only makes a few steps before being confronted by a bored looking Gryffindor girl with long chocolate curls and a silver lip ring, clutching a cup of butterbeer and sighing as she glances over at a group of giggling fifth years he presumes are her friends.

“It’s Dan, isn’t it?” She says in a near monotone voice.  
“Yeah....” He mutters, only paying half attention as he searches for any sign of Phil in the crowd but fails to find the Hufflepuff anywhere.  
“I’m Amelia. Listen, can I ask you a favour? It’ll only take a couple minutes, I swear.”  
“I don’t know, I’m kind of busy...”  
“Please? Look, my idiot friends over there have a bet going and well...it’s worth ten galleons and I could really use the money. If we could just get into an empty classroom nearby and pretend like we made out or something I’ll give you half.” 

The promise of money is enough to instantly turn his full attention to the girl’s offer – there’s been a Nimbus 2000 on clearance at the back of Diagon Alley’s broom store for nearly six months now to make way for the Firebolts, and it’s not much short of Dan’s dream broom. His parents don’t exactly approve of him taking Quidditch any further that a hobby so this is something he’ll have to pay for himself, and five galleons is one step closer from him never having to ride on his crappy Cleansweep Six again. 

He hesitates, taking one last sweeping glance of the crowded common room before deciding to accept. Phil can wait five minutes, right?  
“Okay, deal.”  
“Thanks – I’ll make it worth your while. C’mon, let’s go now while they’re watching us.”  
The Gryffindor boldly grabs Dan’s hand and practically drags him out of the party into the nearest vacant classroom, all the desks shoved to one side and the moonlight eerily draping the room in a near greyscale filter. He stands awkwardly as Amelia twirls her hair around her finger, staring at him intensely, a glint of something else behind her eyes. 

“So, erm, what do we...what do we do now?”  
“I guess we just stay here for ten minutes. They can’t prove anything we may or may not have done, they give us the money and we split it.”  
“Okay...”

They’re kissing six minutes later.  
Dan doesn’t know how this happened or why it’s happening and he’s fairly certain he’s not meant to be doing this – but her eyes are bold and icy blue and they remind him of somebody else the Firewhiskey seems to be blocking out. Her lip ring is cool and uncomfortable and her breath is laced with red currant rum, leading Dan to realise she’s probably as drunk as he is. The only other thing he knows is that this is probably a mistake.

But why does he care? A little voice in his head starts to whisper – his hopeless crush on his best friend is going nowhere. Phil will think he’s even more weird and pathetic than he already does if Dan tells him about it and he can’t bear to ruin the precious friendship that they have, even though he knows Phil’s better off without him (as everyone is). Who cares if the Hufflepuff who currently owns his heart is sweet, kind and caring? So was the third year Dan first gave his heart to, and that ended with him in pieces. Phil...

“Dan?” 

A familiar voice cuts through him like a knife, breaking the two apart. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, not yet, not while he can somewhat pretend this isn’t happening and it’s all some kind of nightmare, because this isn’t how this is supposed to happen, and of course it takes this to realise it’s not this random girl he wants to be kissing – and it takes that voice, slightly broken, slightly confused, slightly something else Dan can’t quite put his finger on, for his world to ever-so-slightly begin to collapse in on itself. It’s enough to sober him up for a lifetime. 

Brown meets blue as he finally brings himself to look, seeing Phil standing in the doorway with an expression that doesn’t fit his face, his wide eyes like ocean storms as regret instantly overwhelms the Slytherin. He opens his mouth in a feeble attempt to explain himself but it’s too late – faster than if he’d have Apparated, Phil is gone and Dan is left wishing for the ground to swallow him whole.

(It’s only later, in the small hours of the morning when he wants to do nothing more than repeatedly bang his head against the post of his dormitory bed, that he realises he should have run after him.) 

***

Dan is a mess. Merlin’s left buttock, Dan is a hot, wreck of a mess.  
Scenarios run wild through his mind all throughout breakfast, interspersed with sharp glass shards of headaches from a regret-filled hangover and the occasional impulse to fall asleep into his porridge. He’s running on pure adrenalin, regret and about twenty minutes of sleep due to things he wishes he could take back and stupid feelings he doesn’t want. To make matters worse, Phil is nowhere to be seen at the Hufflepuff table, absent from giving Dan his usual reassuring smile and making it impossible for him to apologise so they can both move on with their lives. It’s awkward and embarrassing and the last things he needs in his catastrophic shit-show of a life right now, and it would be a whole lot easier if Phil was here so he could just get it over with.

But he doesn’t appear at all throughout breakfast and with today being a Sunday there are no designated lessons he can find him in. Dan devotes the rest of the day to traversing the seemingly endless vast castle and its grounds – the greenhouses are empty, the library is silent and Hogwarts itself seems Phil-less and lifeless by comparison. There is no familiar mop of black hair and blue eyes to be found in the Hufflepuff common room or down by the lake; it’s only when sunset begins to bathe the smouldering remnants of the evening in a glazed orange hue Dan finally gives up, lying defeated on the grass with Chris & PJ.

“I just don’t get it – how can he be literally nowhere? I thought it was only Dumbledore who could be invisible.”  
“I don’t know, Dan. Maybe you just didn’t look hard enough, or you must have just missed him.”PJ offers, sympathetically albeit slightly weakly, drawing faint silver trails in the evening sky with his wand while a bored Chris arranges a penis (although a questionably atomically incorrect one) out of the surrounding pinecones. 

“But why is he hiding from me? I mean, it was really embarrassing yeah, and I probably should have gone after him but it’s not like I was kissing his sister or anything – Phil doesn’t have a sister, right?”  
“No, Dan.”  
“Good.” He rolls over onto his side to stare at his two friends.  
“But why did he react so weirdly then? It just doesn’t make sense.”

The Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw exchange a meaningful glance that makes him feel like he’s missing something really noticeable before turning back to look at him again. PJ sighs slightly and puts his wand away.  
“I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation you’ll figure out soon enough.”  
The three sit there in brooding silence for a little while before the sky slowly starts to become an inky shade of dark blue embellished with constellations, so beautiful it makes Dan wish he actually paid any attention in Astronomy. It’s another undistinguishable time period before he asks a curious question-

“Peej, do you think Phil likes anyone?”  
PJ just regards him with an almost unreadable smile: half exasperated, half smartass.  
“Yeah. Yeah, I think he probably does.”  
“Any idea who?”  
“Well, I’m pretty sure he’s got a thing for brunettes... “Chris pipes up, breaking his previous uncharacteristic thoughtful silence with a trademark jackass grin.  
PJ has to elbow Chris forcefully in the ribs to stop him from saying anymore, which Dan presumes means he’s about to make a trademark scathing sarcastic remark he really doesn’t need right now. They both have knowing grins on their faces and okay, Dan’s definitely missing something but he has no clue as to what it actually is. He’ll figure it out soon enough. The Ravenclaw’s green eyes sparkle with amusement.  
“No idea at all.”

***

The following Monday dawns bright and harsh, and comes with an unfamiliar eagle owl landing in the middle of Dan’s porridge. It harbours a slip of parchment reminding him there are only five days until his potions mock, and he suddenly loses his appetite. It’s hopeless - he still has to make up at least another grade if he wants to be playing in the cup-deciding match (which, because of course it has, has been scheduled for the day after). Hazel’s been ranting all week at breakfast about the smartass third year Slytherin reserve who had apparently refused to play under a female captain (Dan hopes and fully believes Hazel’s response was to give him a few colourful suggestions about where he could stick his wand) and has now changed her tactic from stone cold glares to practically pleading with him to pass just so Slytherin has even a fighting chance. 

“You have to pass Dan, I’m serious – we’ve got no chance without a decent seeker, not against the bloody Gryffindors. At least promise me you’ll try?”  
“I am trying.”  
“Then try harder.” The glint in her eye worries him into thinking she might make him take an Unbreakable Vow at this stage so he half-heartedly agrees.

However much he’ll try, though, Dan can’t survive on weak promises for much longer – without Phil it seems any of his feeble attempts at revision are useless and as he anxiously waits outside the library after classes for their usual study date (date?) he can’t help but let familiar doubt and fear compress his chest. His half-repressed crush on the Hufflepuff doesn’t make things any easier but that’s not important to him, not now. Yes, he’s so bottled up with unrequited, clandestine, shitty feelings he can’t express that he feels like someone’s cast a Fidelius Charm on him but he can deal with all that after the match: right now, Dan just wants his best friend back, and maybe with that some fragment of hope he may actually make it through to take his OWL’s. 

He takes a few deep breaths before walking into the library as nonchalantly as possible, only to freeze when he sees black hair and blue eyes sitting at their usual table, fixed on a book with fingers drumming in a nervous pattern. All coherent thoughts evaporate from his mind because he still came after Dan was so sure he’d fucked everything up, and it’s not like he cheated on him or anything (but in some way it feels like just that), but he’s so glad his one source of hope is still sitting there right in front of him. Anything actually intelligent or sincere or profound he could say is instantly lost in the face of unworldly, bluer-than-blue eyes, which nervously glance up with an awkward smile. Phil puts his book down as Dan slides clumsily into the nearest vacant chair.

“Hi.”  
“Hello.”  
The silence between them is instantly overflowing with everything they’re not saying, and it makes Dan feel like he’s suffocating. He needs to end this, now – and as much as he would rather set himself on fire than actually talk about what happened with (Amy? Amanda? He literally can’t remember), anything to stop the awkwardness literally choking the life out of him.

“Listen, Phil, I’m really sorry about Saturday night -“  
“It’s okay, really, Dan – look, there’s something I-“  
“-Should have known you liked her.” 

It’s the only logical explanation, right? The only one he could make sense of in his restless night before, anyway. Phil’s always been quite quiet about his personal life and Dan knows only too well about withholding a crush. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs have a couple lessons together and Dan genuinely can’t conceive any other reason (that at least adheres to common sense) Phil would run out so flustered like that.

The reaction he gets certainly seems conformation enough for the Slytherin anyway - Phil instantly flushes a shade of deep crimson, avoiding his eye and suddenly finding an old scar from a fanged geranium on his hand very interesting.  
“Yeah...let’s...look, I’d rather not talk about it, okay? Let’s get on with Deflating Draughts.”

And maybe Dan now has some small shard of hope of passing that exam and winning for Slytherin, yeah – but Phil doesn’t look at him for the entire hour they sit in the library, and maybe this place is lit with the same candles with the same roaring fireplace it’s always been but there’s something between them now that wasn’t there before, like there’s a Dementor in the room no-one can see and it leaves the air cold and empty. 

It’s a wall, and he isn’t quite sure how it got there but he wants it to go away. He knows it’s his fault, of course – because maybe with Phil’s tutoring Dan might make it through, but the question of whether he’s got his best friend back or not is another matter all together.

***

The sudden rift isn’t strong enough to be apparent to others, but Dan still feels it, and that’s enough for a permanent rain cloud to follow him around. Phil’s still the same – he’ll still laughs at Dan’s jokes but it’s not the same laugh, quieter and restricted. They’re still Dan and Phil, partners in almost every lesson and rarely seen separated, but the Hufflepuff’s bright smiles are slightly subdued, sarcastic jokes at his expense restrained. It feels like he’s only there because it’s now almost expected of him to be at Dan’s side, like its mandatory, and their eye contact is nearly always only accidental.  
Dan hates every second of it.

The days still pass the same, only with an impending sense of dread and panic as the exam looms ever closer. On top of everything else, his friends only give him patronisingly despairing looks anytime he mentions what’s going on with Phil to them, Louise especially rolling her eyes, as if he’s being obliviously stupid to the blaringly obvious - he just doesn’t get it. Snape breaths down his neck, looming over him in Wednesday’s potions double to remind him about his approaching test as if he’s somehow forgotten, not to mention all his other teachers droning about the rest of his OWL’s. 

Dan is drowning in tidal waves of essays and revision and textbooks, it seems, and the only person who’s ever seemed bothered about him enough to throw him a lifering is slowly drifting out of his grasp.

As the general rules of the universe so happen to occur, time passes, and with that comes the final night before the exam. Despite preparing for it more than pretty much all the end of year exam’s he’s ever taken put together, he’s never been so nervous, mainly about what Hazel will do to him if he doesn’t at least scrape a pass. 

The sky is a shroud of jet black ink by the time Phil closes the last chapter of Advanced Potions Brewery with a final thud. Madam Pince probably should have kicked them out by now but she’s mysteriously not present, making Dan think she’s probably been eavesdropping and knows he needs all the help he can get. His breaths are short and frustrated, his stomach a tight ball of uncertainty and dread.

“Hey.” Phil says quietly, and Dan looks over at him, momentarily distracted by celestial blue, trying not to notice this is the first time Phil’s purposely looked directly at him almost all week. His expression is initially conflicted but broadens into a faint, reassuring smile after a few moments.  
“You’ll do great – I believe in you, remember? You know the stuff, so get in there and do it to the best you can possible do. If you do that, it doesn’t matter whatever grade you get; you tried your best, and that’s the only thing anyone can ever ask of you.” 

He’s confounded as usual at the kindness of the fifth year, so full of optimism Dan can’t seem to render pointless and brimming with wisdom beyond his years, somehow knowing the right thing to say before he even opens his mouth. He knows Phil can’t be as perfect as his rose-tinted glasses always make him out to be, no-one ever is. (He also knows only too well that idolising the one you love is a dangerous game). But that’s just it – he’s in love, isn’t he? However much it inconveniences him, he is in love, and he wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. 

“Thank you. For everything.”  
Phil gives him a hug that leaves him feeling about twenty different emotions at the same time.  
“You’ll be amazing, I know it. Good luck, Dan.”  
The Hufflepuff gently slips out of the library leaving Dan to stare after him for several minutes before hearing Madam Pince cough purposefully behind him, indicating now would be a good time to leave. 

In bed, however, he tosses and turns, his head a mess of obscure potion ingredients and resurfacing repressed feelings. That night, Dan is only really sure of three things – how much Flobberworm mucus he needs to add to a Wiggenweld Potion, the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with Phil Lester, and the truth that there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it. 

***

He supposes he should be used to the dark, ominous and dingy feeling of the dungeons seeing as it’s so close to his common room, but Dan’s never really liked the Slytherin common room either – his irrational fear of the dark, dislike of snakes and his hatred for the bullies of his house means he doesn’t exactly have too much house pride. He still wants to see Gryffindor lose something for once though (although that may just be to stop Chris from being an arrogant twat for five minutes), which is why passing this test is so damn important to him. 

Anxiety finds it’s way into Dan’s head but now hope does too, and he taps his quill nervously on his desk, his thoughts conglomerating into one desperate panicked scream as he tries to recall what beetle’s eyes are used for, staring blankly at the paper in front of him. In a story, this would normally be where he would experience an epiphany of brilliance and earn an Outstanding, gliding through each question with ease, yet it appears even Phil’s tutoring can’t exactly work miracles. 

While his dread worsens there are still some moments of clarity as he scribbles the twelve uses of Dragon’s blood with ease, and finishes with five minutes to spare. Snape grades the paper right in front him with red ink that that makes Dan wince – his fate is literally sitting in Snape’s hands, which is not a place he would ever desire it to be. The seconds that follow are agonising, but as Snape puts the quill away and hands the paper back to him the reward is little less than ecstasy. Scrawled at the bottom is the number 22, two marks shy of a failing grade. 

“An Acceptable – congratulations, Mr. Howell. I’m sure Miss Hayes will be most pleased to learn you’ll be rejoining Slytherin for the match tomorrow.”  
“Thank you, Sir.”  
“I trust this improvement will carry through to your final exam.”  
“Yes, Sir.” Snape regards him coolly as he detects the sarcasm oozing through Dan’s tone but to his relief he gives him nothing but a trademark cold glare.  
“Then that will be all. You are dismissed.” 

Dan practically flies out of the dungeons into the open air with elation, a gargantuan weight from off his shoulders – he feels free, and now that he knows he’ll be playing in the final match tomorrow, that at last he’s got a chance to live his dream ever since first year.  
And he literally couldn’t have done it without Phil – hell, Dan should probably thank Snape even though the thought of genuinely doing that makes him want to throw up slugs. If it wasn’t for his slimy git of a Potions teacher and Head of House, the two never would have met. 

And maybe without Phil, Dan’s heart wouldn’t be so heavy everytime he thought about the colour blue, but he certainly would never have come close to passing without him and wouldn’t have gained the kindest, sweetest, greatest friend he’s ever had in the process. If his thoughts carry on this way he might actually throw up from cheesiness, but it’s all true, and he can’t wait to tell Phil he actually did it. 

Phil, however, once again proves mysteriously hard to find – Dan searches all his usual spots in the hour he has before dinner but has no luck and the Hufflepuff is inexplicably excused from the Great Hall. He’s got no idea what he could have possibly done wrong this time and is prepared to abandon a half-eaten roast dinner to try searching again, but is unsuccessful. As his stomach twists from an undesirable amalgamation of unadulterated excitement and pure terror for tomorrow, he decides his heart could probably do with a break anyway. (If he think about them hard enough, those eyes could probably cause him a cardiac arrest.)

So he settles for telling Hazel instead (who looks about ready to either kiss him or kill him when he walks into the common room, Dan isn’t quite sure which), and after an ecstatic forceful hug and a handful of death threats warning him to play his best, he’s lying in bed again, as if this mountain of a day he’s been so anxious to climb in retrospect has been reduced to a small hill. Its butterflies in his stomach and bluer-than-blue that keep him awake this time, though.  
There’s something missing, something he’s not quite getting when it comes to Phil Lester – and he doesn’t know what it is but he could really use a hint, like a giant neon sign floating above his head to make his life just a little easier. He shakes his head, burying his face in his pillow and trying to let sleep wash over him. This can be a problem for morning Dan – right now, he has defeating lions to dream about. 

*** 

The day of Dan’s daydreams dawns as if the universe has finally stopped being hell bent on screwing him over – it’s warm and submerged in sunshine, displaying a picturesque cloudless blue sky with nothing but a light breeze. Perfect conditions for his perfect day, even if it means his black aesthetic is ruined by the giant glowing golden orb in the sky Hogwarts so rarely gets to see. His stomach untwists enough for him to force down a few slices of toast at breakfast while Hazel fills him in on the game plan and all the techniques they’ve started using while he’s been away. This is going to be one of the closest matches in school history, word spreads around the school like wildfire, and bets are gambled left, right and sideways between all four houses. 

Dan’s well aware it’s only the Slytherins who actually want the Slytherins to win – an obvious statement, sure, but it’s only Slytherins who actually like Slytherin any. Even he if isn’t exactly proud of his house’s history, it would still be nice if Gryffindor didn’t get all the glory for once. Yeah, Slytherin’s got their fair share of assholes, and maybe their track record with dark magic isn’t the best; but not everyone is Gryffindor is a hero, not every Ravenclaw the top of the class. Most of the Gryffindors Dan has met are arrogant, egotistical pricks anyway and even if he knows most of the school will be cheering for the other team, he’s not going to let that stop him destroy them. He’s worked so hard and got this far now, and nothing, not even Phil (who still manages to find some way to pop into Dan’s stupid head), is going to get in his way if he can help it. 

“Dan? Are you even listening to me?” Hazel asks while enchanting her spoon to stir her tea, slightly concerned as she waves her hand in front of his face – this abruptly snaps him out of his internal monologue and brings him soaring back down to the Great Hall.  
“Right, yeah sorry. We were talking about the...Finbourgh Flick?”  
“Not even close.”  
“Double Eight Loop?”  
“Try again.”  
“Talisman Tackle?”  
“...I’m pretty sure you just made that one up.” 

The atmosphere of Hogwarts is almost more alive than he’s ever felt, although he can’t help (as if it’s become some sort of routine) but scan the halls for Phil and still have no luck. Dan only hopes he’ll actually turn up to the match so he has some chance of showing him how grateful he is. Thanks to the Hufflepuff’s tutoring he’s living out his little first year’s fantasy, and even though he hasn’t seen his smile in a while it’s still stuck in Dan’s head like a song on repeat. His feelings for Phil are like a broken record, stumbling over the same old heartache of what’s never meant to be. He’s heard this song so many times in the past few weeks, Dan just wants to skip to the next track.

There’s other thing he’s sure of, though – all feelings aside, he’s determined to find a way to make it up to Phil for his seemingly infinite kindness, he’s just not sure how. For now, though, he has to focus. His house is depending on him and he can’t let his idiot crush distract him now.  
His emerald green Quidditch robes, freshly laundered by the house elves, provide some comfort despite the petrifying collective roar of the hundreds of students that are waiting in the stands. Dan’s stomach instantly coils into a thousand knots, his brain a conflicted mess of exhilaration and panic. This is it.

“Okay team, listen up – this is the biggest match any of us has ever played, and we’re going to show the entire school that Slytherin can win with our talent, not just because we bribed the ref. We’re going to do this the right way, we’re gonna really earn it, and y’know what? We’re still going to kick Gryffindor’s ass and then some. You with me?”

A collective cheer comes from the Slytherin players as Hazel finishes her motivational pep talk, motioning for everyone to grab their brooms and get in formation as the commentator’s voice rings loud and clear, reverberating across the pitch. The team walk on to a tsunami of sound. The stands are an ocean of scarlet and gold flags to contrast a puddle of green and silver banners behind the Slytherin goalposts, but the overwhelming support for Gryffindor hasn’t unnerved Dan yet and he’s determined to make sure it never will. 

Dan isn’t really paying attention to what the commentator roars as he walks to his starting position – he can only hear the crowd’s thunderous applause ringing in his ears. This is what he’s been dreaming about pretty much ever since he learnt to ride a broom. He only looks up when the commentator, a lanky Ravenclaw seventh year he can’t remember the name of, announces his name. He swears even from here he can hear Chris, Peej and Louise cheer for him from somewhere in the stands, which makes his heart swell. He’ll find them at some point. He just needs to find the Snitch first.

“Captains, shake hands.” Madam Hooch says as Hazel and the burly sixth year Gryffindor Chaser face each other, the scarlet-clad captain looking slightly apprehensive as if worried she might break his fingers.  
“Mount your brooms!” Madam Hooch announces, Dan’s stomach churning.  
“Three, two, one...”

The shrill screech of the whistle she blows is instantly lost in a cacophony of noise as fourteen brooms rise into the air.  
The match begins in a blur of clashing scarlet and emerald robes – it seems before Dan even has a chance to blink Gryffindor have scored twice despite Hazel’s best efforts defending the hoops. It’s not a surprise – the Gryffindor team are notoriously good, but he knows his team are better; the lions can throw as many Bludgers at them and score as many Quaffles as they like, but this game doesn’t depend on that – glory will go to whoever catches the Snitch first. As that’s Dan’s job, he’s going to do it right. He hovers away from the main action, dodging the occasional Bludger sent his way and circling the pitch anxiously, searching of a fluttering fleck of gold. 

It’s appears he’s a creature of habit, however; more than once he catches his eyes wondering over to the Hufflepuff stands. If he has as much luck finding the Snitch as he normally does finding Phil, Gryffindor will win before Dan can say “Quidditch.”  
Unlucky in his efforts so far, he tails the opposing seeker for a bit while Slytherin do their best to equalise, and within five minutes each team scores twice, bringing the total to 40-20. Still unsuccessful, he does a few loop-de-loops to vent his frustration, narrowly avoiding the Bludger that rockets his way. While he still can’t find the Snitch, though, something is happening at one end of the pitch no-one can take their eyes off – the Gryffindor seeker is moving as if she’s going to break the sound barrier. 

Dan’s heart plummets as he instantly speeds after her despite knowing he’s seconds too late. He can see her hand reaching out to grab something shiny and gold, can only watch in despair as she’s only centimetres away, and-

And a sickening crunch coupled with a collective gasp resonates with the two seekers as they both abruptly slide to halt to stare at the spot on the pitch where a skinny Gryffindor chaser lies, his arm at an angle that makes Dan want to throw up. The Snitch flies out of eyeshot and the match is paused by a flustered Madam Pince who immediately calls for someone to send Madam Pomfrey over at once. 

No-one knows quite how it happened – some of the scarlet clothed supporters Dan is in earshot of angrily accuse one of the Slytherin beaters who he personally knows wouldn’t hurt anything except a heavily enchanted angry black cannonball. He decides against arguing with them though, instead using the brief break in play to fly over to his newly-spotted friends in the corner of the Ravenclaw stands. They’re sporting little green and silver flags in his honour (Chris albeit slightly reluctantly) and though Dan’s glad to see them he can’t help wish someone else was with them. 

“Dan!” Louise squeals excitedly, waving her flag enthusiastically as he greets her with a grateful smile.  
“Hi, Lou.”  
“You’re doing so great! I’m so proud of you.”  
PJ offers him a supportive smile and even Chris seems less hostile than usual when it comes to the two houses’ fierce competitive rivalry.  
“Yeah, mate – looks like Gryffindor might not even completely destroy you this time.”  
“Thanks, Chris. Nice to know you care so much.”  
“Anytime.”

It’s then when Dan’s borderline obsession gets the better of him.  
“Hey, um...have you guys seen Phil anywhere?”  
The atmosphere instantly becomes tainted with his trademark awkwardness. The three exchange an uneasy glance that prompts Dan to instantly drop the smile from his face. After coming to some sort of silent agreement with the other two, PJ sighs reluctantly, running his hand through his hair. 

“Erm...he kind of...well...he asked us not to say.”  
Dan feels himself heating up, looking down at the floor about fifty feet below him, his heart sinking rapidly. He’s normally good with heights but now both the altitude and his feelings make him feel nauseous. Oh. 

“Why?”  
Louise almost scoffs at that before reverting back to a sympathetic look.  
“Well, Dan – it is kind of obvious...”  
And this is what causes him to explode.

“No! No it bloody well isn’t! Look, I don’t know what I did and whatever I did I’m sorry, really, but I’m sick of Phil hiding from me for no apparent reason and I’m sick of you guys giving me patronizing looks like I’m blind or something because I just don’t get it! I don’t get why he obviously hates me now, I don’t get why there’s this stupid rift between us and yeah, I know I kissed the girl he likes or whatever but I didn’t know and-“

“-Wait wait wait, slow down...” Dan takes a breath, tears threatening to brim in the corners of his eyes because this is not what he wanted today but more than anything, even more than winning, he wants his best friend back, now. He’s sick of being left in the dark. Louise’s stunned expression confuses him.  
“...Dan, why do think Phil’s being so distant?”

He shrugs, letting out a deflated sigh. The game will be restarting any moment now and he needs to get his head back on finding the Snitch.  
“I don’t know? He walked in on me kissing this girl the other week and I just figured he must like her or something, ‘cause he ran out and he’s barely made eye contact with me since.”  
Louise looks like she’s either about to burst out laughing or scream from frustration, PJ putting his head in his hands and Chris staring at him like he’s the biggest idiot in the world before opening his mouth.

“Right that’s it, I don’t care. I’m telling him.”  
“What? No, he has to figure it out for himself, that’s what we decided.”  
“But it’s making them both miserable and it’s making me want to strangle myself with the Giant Squid.” Chris & Louise continue to bicker as if they’ve forgotten he’s there.  
“Tell me what?”  
Louise sighs dejectedly before holding her hands up in the air. 

“Fine, fine – Dan, quite frankly I find your lack of observation skills worrying, but I think we’ve all suffered enough at this point. While I wanted you to figure this out on your own, I’m actually with Chris on this one if it will put us all out of our misery, so-“  
Dan feels his heart speed up at least triple the amount that’s healthy. 

“-it’s not the girl that Phil likes.”  
It takes a moment for it to click in his mind, for any actual coherent thought to resonate in his mind. If Phil doesn’t like her then why-

Oh.  
_Oh._  
Dan is _such_ an idiot. 

Madam Hooch, because of course she does, chooses that exact moment to blow the whistle and restart the match, leaving an utterly shell-shocked Dan to blink a couple times before remembering where he is and instantly speeding off. Oh. 

If his brain was in panic mode before, it’s not a blaze of red flashing lights and piercing sirens because oh, he’s so blind and such an idiot and oh – Phil likes him, Phil actually likes him and if he thinks about that too hard he might fall off his broom. He can barely concentrate on the match anymore but soon makes a weak attempt to pull himself together, performing circuits of the pitch and replaying old moments in his head that are now finally beginning to make some sense. Oh. 

He’s been dreaming of his day since first year, and now he just wants it to be over, if it isn’t already too late. Dan has fucked up royally, but if he can somehow pick up the pieces...  
He really needs to tell Phil something. Yes, okay, maybe this is the kind of stupid, teenage, head-over-heels and never-going-to-last-love Dan so anxiously fears because he doesn’t want to put his heart on the line again for something that might fizzle out in six months.  
Maybe they will fizzle out in six months, but maybe they won’t, and an optimistic tone of voice that rarely speaks out in his head gives him a feeling they’re meant to last.

The firecrackers currently erupting in Dan’s stomach tell him to forget about the future and focus on the now, and soon he’s circling the game again. But how is he going to be able to put into words how he really feels? He isn’t sure he can ever accurately convey whatever this is in a way that doesn’t make him sound like either an obsessive stalker or even more of a complete idiot than he actually is, and-

-And then, a rapid flicker of gold rockets past Dan’s ear and he’s on autopilot, instantly speeding after it until everything that surrounds him becomes one big combined blur. His fingers outstretch as far as possibly can while he stays precariously balanced about 40 feet in the air, the damned golden thing inches from his grasp. Come on, come on, he’ll actually fall off his broom if he leans any further and he’s so close now-

Dan’s fingers, in such a way he wonders if he’s still dreaming, close on the Snitch as if it doesn’t seal basically the greatest achievement of his life so far or anything. He feels about fifty different emotions at once, a confusion of ecstasy and glory and many things in-between. Part of him wonders whether this is some kind of reward from the universe after everything that’s happened in the past six weeks, and he decides to be hopeful for once in his life and take it as a sign things are finally starting to go his way.

The cheers of the Slytherin supporters are almost whispers in comparison to Hazel’s euphoric screaming as Dan demounts his broom and runs onto the pitch where the rest of his teammates are waiting, pride radiating from their very beings. A tidal wave of silver and green floods the pitch as Slytherin are presented with the Quidditch Cup and Dan is on top of both this world and the next to know he’s done his house proud and achieved his wildest dreams.  
The Slytherin team, Dan included, are proudly hoisted onto the shoulders of many, carried down the pitch as the majority of the other three houses look on, clapping reluctantly. He grips the trophy tightly, presenting it high in the air. He doesn’t think even a mass army of Dementors could defeat him now; the Slytherin is pretty sure any memory of this day could produce the strongest Patronus in the wizarding world’s history. 

But suddenly, the sea of students almost parts in the middle as Dan’s heart stops. There, a few paces in front of him in the crowd at the edge of the field stands raven black hair, snow-pale skin and ethereal blue eyes that look like they should belong to a fairy, wearing a Slytherin badge and looking shyly up at Dan with a withdrawn yet still proud smile. Oh. 

The oncoming parade of Slytherins comes to halt at the edge of the pitch where a mass group of onlookers stand ready to congratulate the team – Dan asks to be put down.  
“Sorry, could you just hold this for a second...” He says absent-mindedly, passing the trophy along to one of his Slytherin teammates as his feet touch the ground and he makes his way towards Phil.  
The Hufflepuff is pushed forwards by Chris, PJ & Louise, who watch the pair face each other so eagerly Dan thinks they should have brought popcorn. That’s not important right now, though – right now, one of the most important things to Dan is standing right in front of him. Yes, it’s been six weeks since they first met but Dan’s never felt so strongly for anyone before and it’s almost as if magic binds them together until they’re only inches apart. Phil begins to open his mouth.

“Dan, I-“  
And then Dan just grabs his by his striped yellow tie and kisses him.

It’s sincere and meaningful even if clumsy and impossibly quick as he instantly breaks apart, mortified at Phil’s shocked expression. What if he doesn’t want this it all, what if his friends are wrong, what if Dan’s just made things even worse...  
But then Phil’s face breaks into the fondest, widest smile Dan can’t help but return as he presses their foreheads together.  
“You are such an idiot.”

And then Phil kisses him and Dan can hear the whole school cheer just a little louder; anyone who might pass judgement is instantly drowned out and ignored. Louise squeals with happiness and when they finally can’t kiss anymore because they’re both grinning too hard, Dan sees Chris begrudgingly hand PJ a handful of galleons before giving Dan a thumbs up. The pair hugs tightly before shyly turning crimson at the sight of the school clapping for them, shuffling over to their friends while Dan slings his arm affectionately over Phil’s shoulder. 

It’s much later, when the charcoal sky is outlined with early signs of pastel dawn and the Slytherin celebrations have finally subdued, that they talk about it – about them, faint rose blush dusting their cheeks and both wearing content grins as their fingers remain interlocked. They work a few things out (agreeing friends first, boyfriends second) before drifting into a comfortable silence, Phil’s head resting on his shoulder. It’s a few minutes before one of them speaks again.

“Thank you.” Dan says quietly and earnestly, and yeah - it’s way overdue. He has too many apologies to make and a month-and-a-half’s worth of lost kisses to make up for, but it seems this moment shared between them isn’t going about the past. Instead it’s the start of something new, and, if he has any say at all in the matter, it’s going to be pretty damn wonderful.  
Phil looks up with those unearthly blue eyes and gives Dan a genuine smile that makes that odd feeling stir again, accompanied by a wave of déjà-vu. He should say a lot more, thank him a lot more, he knows he should. But right now, it seems two words and a smile shared between them will do.  
“Anytime.”

***

Phil’s going to kill him.  
Phil’s actually going to kill him, like Unforgiveable-Curse, Avada Kedavra him and everything, if he’s any later to their date – Dan knows he’s been planning this for weeks. It’s not his fault Professor Binns kept the entire class behind for an eternity to drone on about their Giant Wars essay, and now not only is Dan running late twenty minutes late to meet his favourite person in the world but, as if this couldn’t get any worse, he also has no idea what floor Phil said to meet on. Merlin’s ballsack, he is the worst boyfriend ever. The other fifth-year really deserves some kind of special award. 

Dan almost sprints across the pretty much deserted first and second floors with no luck, pausing to take a breath before jogging up a (thankfully non-moving) staircase to the third. He’s glad barely anyone is inside the castle to point and laugh his feeble attempts at exercise (he can play Quidditch for hours but as soon as his feet touch the ground he has the athletic prowess of a walrus with no limbs). 

The hallways are so barren because the sky is the purest shade of blue outside and even most of the teachers are enjoying the sun. Still, he’s relieved to be alone so maybe he and Phil can finally have some peace; he’s pretty sure some of the first years have set up a bloody fanclub for them by now and they seem to be everywhere the pair turn.  
At the fourth floor, however, his luck seems to run out. He sprints down an empty corridor and lurches round a corner only to collide with black billowing robes and icy glare. Shit.

“Mr. Howell – I suggest you look where you are so childishly running the next time before you cause an unfortunate accident.” Snape sneers and a panic alarm starts ringing in Dan’s mind. Was he meant to hand in forgotten homework? Is Snape going to give him detention? If he’s literally any later Phil will think he’s stood him up and he’ll have ruined everything...  
“Sorry, Sir.”

“Is that all you have to offer me? That overdue essay on Varieties of Venom Antitodes, perhaps?” This is it. This is how Dan’s going to die. He sweats nervously trying to come up with an excuse that’s better than “I was making out with my boyfriend in the library instead of doing my homework” (So maybe their relationship has made them slightly less productive when it comes to studying, but he doesn’t think either of them really mind). 

It's then, however, when a golden ray of hope seems to magically appear to save Dan’s life in the form of a wondering Dumbledore who just so happens to turn the corner and see the confrontation. He and the helpless Slytherin lock eyes for a millisecond and an expression Dan can’t seem to place appears on his face before it turns into one of surprise.

“Ah, Mr. Howell! I’ve been wanting to speak with you for some time. I trust you got my owl?” Dan looks at him in bewilderment – what owl? And what has he done now to make Dumbledore want to speak with.... Oh. Realisation dawns as he nods enthusiastically, glad he managed to realise what the headmaster is doing quicker than he realised about Phil.

“Yes! Yeah, sorry Professor, I...haven’t had time, with all the homework I have...” Dan trails off, aware that Snape is currently giving him a glower that could turn him to ice. Dumbledore gives them both a blissfully unaware smile.  
“Well, I’m sure you have a free minute now; Severus, if you wouldn’t mind?”  
“Not at all, Professor.” Snape says reluctantly through gritted teeth, steeping aside so Dumbledore can walk past to stand alongside the fifth year.

“Thank you.” The headmaster starts to walk along the corridor, leaving Dan to pray a silent thank you to every deity he can think of before quickly following him. They walk in silence until Snape is out of sight and Dan nervously clears his throat, afraid he’s got it wrong and Dumbledore does actually want to speak with him and he’s being expelled or something. 

“So, Professor, um...what was it you want to talk about?” He asks nervously, and Dumbledore stops in his tracks to stare at Dan with a glint in his eye.  
“Alas! The very subject seems to have suddenly escaped me, a crying shame – you must forgive my old age, always forgetting something.” His face is one of amusement that makes Dan crack a grin.  
“I shall instead leave you with some wisdom you will do well to learn, Daniel – beyond all the magic you may learn here, I think you will always find that love is often the most powerful magic of all. No matter what form it takes.”

“Thank you, sir.”  
“That shan’t be necessary. Now, I believe Mr. Lester is on the seventh floor?” And with that, Dumbledore walks away, leaving the confused Slytherin to stare after him gormlessly, stationary in a now empty corridor before realising he’s still late.

Dan sprints to the seventh floor, quietly casting “Orchideous” to least have something to present to Phil while running past Professor Filtwick’s office and the Arithmancy classroom. He wonders into the left corridor, just about to give up when-  
“Dan! Over here, you dildo.”  
The Slytherin’s face breaks into a wide smile at the sight of Phil jumping up from the floor, having previously been sprawled next to a large picnic hamper. The Hufflepuff takes the flowers eagerly before giving Dan a hug that nearly sends them crashing both down to the floor.

“Hey, you.” Dan says softly.  
“Hey. I’ve been waiting for ages! I thought you’d stood me up or something.” Phil looks shyly at the ground as he blushes.  
“Only a complete idiot would ever be stupid enough to do that.”  
“You are a complete idiot.”  
“That’s true – but I am actually sorry. Professor Binns wouldn’t shut up, and then I couldn’t remember what floor you said to meet on and then I ran into Snape and”- Phil cuts off his ramble with a shy kiss which makes him feel like he’s done about ten shots of Firewhisky (even though he’s decided it will be a long time before he drinks that again).

“Shhhhh. I don’t care – you’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me.”  
Dan turns a bright shade of red at the sincerity of Phil’s words, a habit that has become all too familiar – they’ve been a mess of shy smiles and flushed cheeks for almost a month now; the same old Dan and Phil, only with a lot more kissing. After the blood has faded from his cheeks a little he finally begins to wonder what they’re actually doing here in the deserted corridor. 

“So, why are we here? And what’s with the picnic basket?”  
“Well, I thought we could do with a little privacy since Lou tends to scream everytime we so much as hold hands so...” Phil indicates for him to step back from the wall he was previously leaning against as he paces up and down past it, a look of pure concentration etched onto his face. The third time he walks past the wall suddenly a mahogany door appears just tall enough for the two obnoxiously tall fifth-years to enter, and Dan’s formerly sceptical expression turns to one of quiet surprise.

“How did you....” Phil just grins in reply, admiring his handiwork.  
“C’mon!” He picks up the flowers and the hamper before kicking the door open, leaving Dan to follow curiously in his wake. He instantly marvels at what he sees – stepping inside reveals a cosy room with a crackling fireplace, the walls lined with full bookshelves and decorated with every kind of potted plant known to wizardkind, which instantly sets Phil’s eyes alight. He gently places Dan’s flowers into the nearest vacant pot and casts “Aquamenti”, filling it with water while nurturing the petals.

The Slytherin is left to take in the sight – the light fixtures, bookcases and even the bricks of the fireplace are intertwined with ivy as if they’ve steeped into an old cottage in the clearing of an enchanted forest he’d read stories about as a kid. As he looks at the vast, seemingly endless collection of books (reading has grown on him after spending so much time in the library), the comforting warmth of the fireplace and most of all Phil, pottering around the various flowers with a content beam on his face, Dan can’t help but think how he’d love to live like this one day. After all, after finally winning the cup for Slytherin he needs a new daydream. 

The most unusual thing about this place, however, is the floor – in lieu of the well trodden carpets or stone cold slabs that pave most of the school, is a soft green meadow embroidered with daises. The entire room wouldn’t look out of place in a fairytale, and he turns to Phil in wonder as the Hufflepuff finally finishes tending to all the plants.

“Do you like it?” He asks nervously.  
“I love it! How did you know this place was here?”  
“My brother told me about this place when he was at Hogwarts – it’s called the Room of Requirement. Y’know that night when, um...well yeah. I ran after I saw you face sucking that girl like a Dementor, found myself here and all of a sudden this door was here that wasn’t before, right? So I go in and it’s like this, filled with my favourite books and plants and stuff. It really cheered me up.”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding...” Dan nods, suddenly understanding a lot more things while Phil gives him a bashful smile.  
“Yeah...um, it only appears when the person’s in need of it, so I guess it somehow knew whenever you were being more of an idiot than usual so I could hide before doing something stupid – like, I don’t know, kissing you in front of the entire school without warning.” He trails off in a sarcastic tone, giving Dan a jokingly pointed look. 

“Sorry about that, by the way.”  
“I didn’t really mind. I was worried it wouldn’t show up today but I guess even it knows we’re in dire need of some alone time.”  
“Can’t argue with that.” Dan exhales a content sigh, lying down on the surprisingly soft grass as Phil hauls the hamper over, taking out bottles of pumpkin juice, chocolate frogs and Dan’s favourite cherry scones, which results in a fond look of admiration.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you.”  
“Please. I’ve wanted to take you out on a date since second year.” Phil says offhandedly, focused on linking together daisy chains.  
“Really?”  
“We had fourth period Potions together on a Thursday – you accidentally managed to singe your eyebrows off and you still looked cute.” Dan scoffs, trying to not to blush too hard again – he can’t turn red everytime Phil says something adorable or else he’ll be permanently scarlet. He’s mainly ashamed that Phil remembers every class they’ve had together so well yet Dan only knew the fifth-years name a few months ago. 

“I looked like a potato in second year.”  
“Oh my god, you actually did as well. I’m remembering the hair cut.” The Hufflepuff unsuccessfully tries to stifle giggles as Dan has about twenty-seven cringe attack at once remembering his twelve year old self.  
“Please don’t – I’m having traumatic flashbacks.” He says, closing his eyes, embarrassed by any memory of past self before....actually, just embarrassed by pretty much his entire past self. When he opens them again though, his expression immediately softens. 

If Dan ever looks in the Mirror of Erised, he’s pretty sure he’ll see this - a beaming, giggling Phil with a lopsided daisy-chain crown decorating his midnight black hair, striped yellow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he smiles at Dan like he’s all the stars in the night sky. If he is the stars, Phil is the Northern Lights – his dork of a Hufflepuff boyfriend outshines him by miles, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He could drown in those blue eyes and fully intends to try.  
He feels like he should make some eloquent romantic speech about how stupidly in love he is, profess how beautiful he is or else maybe just tell him he likes his face – but he holds back. He’s worried, of course he is – he fell in love so fast, as he normally does, and now they’re part of something strange, new and exciting and he’s terrified because he has no idea how long this is going to last, however much he hopes it’ll be forever. When it comes to Phil, he’s never been good with sharing how he really feels – if he’d just done that in the first place, they would have saved themselves six weeks of awkwardness and Dan being a pratt. 

And yet, maybe that’s the problem. He spends too much time dwelling on his past regrets and even more time petrified of his future in case he messes up again. He should be focusing on the present; his favourite person in the world is smiling at him right now with their hands shyly interlaced, together, and Dan is happier than he’s ever been. 

“You...um...y-you know you’re b-beautiful, right?” The Slytherin blurts out, and now they’re both a shade of brilliant bright red. It’s not really romantic or eloquent in the slightest but it’s a start, and a step in the right direction to not being terrified of love and everything in-between he’s way more than willing to take. 

“You’re such a dork, but thank you. You’re beautiful too.” Phil laughs melodically, before standing up and offering his hand to Dan, who takes it so they’re both standing. The Hufflepuff fumbles for a familiar small rectangular shape device, taking the headphones out and pulling his wand out too, casting “Sonorous!” on the speaker before handing it to Dan.

“Choose one you like the look of.”  
“What are we doing?”  
“Dancing, of course.” Phil grins as Dan scrolls through, stopping to read one which breaks a massive smile across his face. He may not be able to put into words what he feels for Phil quite yet, but until then he’s pretty sure this will do. 

He presses the play button and, as soft ukulele chords fill the room, Phil rolls his eyes while Dan grins, placing the Muggle device down and taking his hand. The two hold each other close with wide smiles, armed wrapped around each other and heads gently pressed together as they happily sway in time to the music. Of all the spells he’s ever cast, of all the enchantments he’s ever seen – this feeling is by far the most magical. They let the music speak for them:

_Wise men say, only fools rush in_  
_But I can't help falling in love with you_  
_Shall I stay? Would it be a sin -_  
_If I can't help falling in love with you?_

_Like a river flows, surely to the sea_  
_Darling so it goes, some things were meant to be_  
_Take my hand, take my whole life too_  
_'Cause I can't help falling in love with you._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this and for some weird reason might actually want to see some of my older work, you can read more at my wattpad (@LemoTheNerd) even if the majority of it makes me cringe so hard you don't even know omg  
> \- sian ^-^


End file.
